


the pros and cons of freaking out

by bumblebee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:10:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebee/pseuds/bumblebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt, "Blowjobs are super helpful for calming people down."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pros and cons of freaking out

**Author's Note:**

> This may be the closest thing to porn I have ever written. It has not been beta'd because I am not entirely sure how to tell my amazing go-to beta that I have written fic for Teen Wolf. She might disown me when she sees this. I regret nothing! Anyway, this was written quickly and has only been superficially editted because I am lazy. If you have any corrections or style suggestions, I would be very happy to hear them!
> 
> Also this is entirely the fault of [Jen](http://swing-set13.livejournal.com/) because she introduced me to Teen Wolf in the first place, via wall!shove gifs on my tumblr dash. Blame her!

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god.” Stiles is very obviously freaking out. He keeps running his hands over his head and scraping his fingers down his neck. Derek counts his steps as he paces the room. “Shit shit shit shit shit.” One step for every curse and a swivel on the last.

“Does _anyone_ know where you are, Stiles?” Derek growls at him, clearly frustrated. Stiles throws him a wild glare, his mouth twisted unhappily.

“No, you _idiot_. I fucking snuck out to your place because I can’t tell my dad – ‘Oh, hey dad, you know that guy I told you was a murderer? Yeah, he’s kind of in charge of our little group now and he needs my help for an errand! Be back later!’ My dad thinks I’m studying at Scott’s for that chemistry test that I _actually do have tomorrow_ and Scott is having dinner at Alison’s house and Jackson and Danny _actually invited me over_ to hang out with them, what is this, the world has turned on its head, but I told them the Scott story because you said this was supposed to be a secret, and you sent Lydia off to do important second-in-command things and I didn’t even know where we were going anyway; you just dragged me out here so _no_ , Derek, no one knows where the fuck we are and we are going to _die_ here. Also, I am pretty sure that either I left my phone in your car or it fell out when this fucking house tried to _kill me_.”

Stiles knows that he’s being irrational. The house that Derek dragged him to had been on the brink of collapse anyway; it had only been Derek’s insane alpha reflexes had saved Stiles from being crushed when a load-bearing beam had given in to rot and termites and essentially disintegrated above him. Of course, now they are trapped in a small room with no windows, absolutely no way out, poor structural integrity and no help on the way. It is also midnight, Stiles’ torch keeps flickering and there are _bugs everywhere_ , and possibly also rats.

It is also possible that Stiles was having a panic attack.

“Maybe I should,” Derek tries to say but Stiles just talks over him. (He’s talking over the _alpha_ and something in the back of his mind is waving its arms frantically in a shut-the-fuck-up-Stiles kind of way.)

“I was _so happy_ when you asked me to help you because I’m not even really part of the pack and even if I were I would be like below-omega in the hierarchy so it’s kind of flattering to be able to help the alpha and anyway, it’s really, really nice to have _someone_ actually notice that I’m not entirely useless and quite good at detective-y things which is I suppose why you wanted _me_ to help you because, I mean, you said we were _looking for clues about another pack_ although maybe it’s just because I’m dispensable if something goes wrong, and you can probably go without food for longer than I can and, look, the fact is I’m weaker and likely to die first, we don’t even have water with us, so if I do, don’t feel bad about eating me. I’m not saying you can kill me! But if I’m already dead, you may as well live a bit longer by _consuming my flesh_. Oh god, just, I don’t know, tell my dad I love him? Shit. He’s going to be _all alone_. Can you keep an eye on him, please?”

His pacing increases and his voice is getting steadily tighter. When he pauses for breath, he pulls in air with a sort of wheezing desperation, like his throat is closing up. Derek is still carefully tracking his movement, his heartbeat. Stiles turns to look at him desperately, and studies his expression. It looks almost – well, if it were anyone but Derek Hale, Stiles may have said concerned. It’s a slightly more strained expression than usual, mouth pulled down at the edges and eyebrows lowered.

“I should have known this whole werewolf thing would get me killed and really I did think it would be Scott losing control and killing me, he almost did that once, but oh god,” and the torch goes out. Stiles’ rasping breaths are loud in the sudden darkness. He presses his back to the wall behind him and sinks to the floor: he _can’t see and where is Derek and shit shit shit he can’t breathe_ – a hand roughly grabs the back of his neck.

“Stiles, fucking breathe,” Derek commands harshly. “In, then out, genius. You know how to do this.”

Stiles manages to gulp in a mouthful of air, and swallow some of that down but it isn’t enough and every muscle in his chest and throat is clenching down and shut and it _hurt_. _If only I had asthma_ , he manages to think past the wordless panic that has gripped his mind entirely. The dead torch drops from his numb, unresponsive fingers and he knows he’s shaking uncontrollably too.

And then there is a warm hand curling firmly around the back of his head and warm air being forced down his throat.

It’s probably the shock of Derek _basically kissing him_ that snaps Stiles out of it.

Derek pulls back to study him carefully. Stiles focuses on breathing deeply.

“Are you okay?” Derek eventually asks, voice level and inscrutable.

“Great! Great. I’m perfect. You probably think I am even more pathetic than you did before and I’ve just had a panic attack again, which, I thought I stopped having those like two years ago. Shit. Now I’m just, I’m just trapped in a dark, enclosed space with basically no chance of rescue and you pretty much just _kissed me_ , which, really, Danny and I have been kind of speculating about since he discovered you weren’t actually my cousin, because, I’m sure you know how attractive you are, there have been gushy emails exchanged on the topic and now that you know what a loser I am really there is _no chance of it happening for real_. Also I’m still likely to die! I’m brilliant! My life is a bed of fucking rose petals, god.” Stiles pauses to consider this for a moment. “I think I might throw up.”

He doesn’t, which is probably for the best because they are in an enclosed space and unlikely to get out for a while. The silence seems a bit surprised that it is no longer being stampeded by frantic words from a panicking teenage boy, and hangs over them awkwardly.

“Did you say _gushy emails_?” Derek asks after a while, eyebrow raised.

“Did you, did you know that a symptom of ADHD is that you just, just blurt out your thoughts? I have no filter, it’s not my fault! Also panic attacks don’t just _stop_ , they kind of last for ages, slowly wearing off. Temporary insanity, you can’t hold this against me; please don’t kill me?”

“I’m not going to,” Derek starts but Stiles just continues loudly.

“I mean, it’s hardly my fault, this is a high stress situation and if I don’t make it out alive, at least I can know that I actually told you that I think you’re hot, so, you’re also kind of scary so that is an achievement for me. It may or may not be on my bucket list,” and apparently Derek didn’t appreciate being interrupted because he was taking back control of the conversation. With his tongue. In Stiles’ mouth. Stiles made a noise that he would forever insist to have been a very sexy, manly groan but Derek would insist on remembering as a squeak.

“I think I have _finally_ found a way to shut you up.” Derek’s grin was feral now, and Stiles was abruptly aware that this was a highly powerful mythical creature.

“I should let you know that while this kissing is very, very distracting – and nice! Definitely nice! Amazing, even! Perfect! Good, positive adjectives abound! – we are still trapped in a small room which is possibly going to collapse on us and no one knows where we are and we have no way of _letting_ them know where we are.”

Derek considers telling Stiles that Lydia is supposed to be meeting them here in about half an hour with whatever intel she’s gathered on this rumoured pack. Derek could have used his “alpha powers” (as Stiles insisted on calling them) to summon his betas even if he hadn’t arranged for her to join them. Then he considers the way Stiles still looks at Lydia sometimes, and the noise he’d just made when Derek had licked into his mouth. He considers the occasional moments of sheer brilliance that _everyone_ overlooked, much more wowed by Lydia’s carefully doled out intelligence or Allison’s studied knowledge. Stiles’ fingers clutch at the shirt over his chest and even through the darkness, Derek can see his eyes glazing over with panic again.

“If you can still panic, then I’m clearly not distracting enough,” he says firmly. Despite what Stiles believes, Derek _is_ his alpha and Stiles needs to trust him. Stiles is _his_. He braces one hand against the wall behind Stiles, curls the other around the back of his head and pushes a bruising kiss against his mouth.

After a moment, Stiles pulls him closer with the grip on his shirt, one arm curling around his neck. Derek abandons the wet heat of Stiles’ mouth and moves down to nip at his throat instead. When Stiles throws his head back in an instinctive gesture, baring his throat, Derek growled his pleasure and sucks a bruise into the offered skin.

“At least I got to have my first kiss before I die,” Stiles gasps to the roof and Derek stills over him. Something possessive in him is toying happily with the words ‘first kiss’, rolling them around like a new favourite plaything. On the other hand –

“You’re not going to die,” Derek snaps, pushing his forehead firmly against Stiles’ so that he can’t avoid eye contact. “I am your alpha and I _need_ you to trust me, Stiles. I will _not_ let you die.”

They’re breathing against each other and Stiles is listening to the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it desperation in Derek’s tone. “I do, I trust you,” he breathes eventually, relaxing fractionally. He dares to brush a kiss against Derek’s lips. “I trust you,” he insists.

Derek drops his forehead to rest against Stiles’ shoulder to hide his grin. God knows he’s given the idiot more than enough ammunition already.

“You know,” Stiles continues warily, his tone tentative and teasing, “I’m still pretty panicky, but I’ve heard that blowjobs are super helpful for calming people down.”

Derek pulls off to give him a glare and he shrinks back a little.

“It was a joke! I was jok- oh my god oh my god oh my god.” Derek smirks at Stiles and keeps unzipping his jeans. “You – what – I don’t. Shit shit shit.” Stiles clutches at Derek’s hair, neither pulling nor pushing but just hanging on. His head falls back against the mouldering plaster behind him with a dull thud. “Hnnng.”

It seems that this isn’t an effective method of shutting Stiles up, but he’s certainly stopped _talking_ so Derek counts it as a win.

Later, Derek hears the crunch of gravel as Lydia’s car pulls up. Between the two of them, they use their not-exactly-human strength to clear a path through the rubble in only five minutes, even taking excessive care not to collapse the rest of the house on top of them. Lydia takes one look at the jacket draped over a sleeping Stiles and gives Derek a pointed look.

“There, now you can stop moping every time he looks at me,” she tells Derek snootily. “Your sulking was starting to become unbearable.”

“You’re the worst second-in-command ever,” Derek snarls at her, but he looks happy, so she doesn’t take offence.

“Nix on telling Scott,” she says quickly, sticking her tongue out. Stiles sits up blearily at her ringing laughter.

“Lydia! You’ve come to save us! You are a goddess!” he cheers sleepily but he’s smiling softly at Derek, so Derek counts that as a win too.


End file.
